


Spirit's Guidance

by BPforShort



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Einherjars - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BPforShort/pseuds/BPforShort
Summary: The Einherjar debuting in Awakening are a strange breed. Some say they are merely spirits who fancy themselves heroes of legend, while others are convinced they are the real things. Only one thing is certain: they are tremendously skilled fighters and a worthy addition to the Ylissean army. When Robin recruited the Einherjar of the long-deceased Hero-King, however, she had no idea that she was getting much, much more than just a swordsman.





	1. Cold Comfort

_Emm…_ Chrom pressed his forehead into his hand hard, trying desperately to hold back his tears. Robin said there was nothing anyone could have done to change his sister's fate, but what did she know? He wasn't supposed to be 'anyone'! He had been Emmeryn's _brother!_ He should have saved her! If only he'd been stronger, or smarter…

He put his other elbow on the table, joining his free hand to the one on his forehead. It was a good thing it was the middle of the night and everyone had gone to bed- if Lissa saw him crying, she'd lose it as well, and if Frederick so much as suspected he was upset, he'd never hear the end of it.

The maps and scrolls full of tactics that Robin had written up had already been shoved off the table, having been proven unsatisfactory in distracting him from his grief. He didn't look up when he heard the rustling of the paper scrolls against each other or against the table. Great. Someone'd woken up and seen him… and for some reason decided to clean up the mess before bothering with him. Probably Miriel.

He gasped for air when an ice cold hand was put on his shoulder, and looked behind him. Even before he recognized its face, he spotted the faintly glowing, blue aura that encircled the spirit like a corona. The Einherjar of his ancient ancestor stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, looking at him with that blank stare that he had grown accustomed to.

"Lodestar," he managed, still refusing to call the spirit by the name of the man it resembled. It wasn't the Hero-King, no matter how much it may have thought it was. He wondered how the Einherjar had found him and why it was staring at him like that- the spirit never sought contact. It only followed Robin's orders, like it was supposed to do. It was almost entirely incapable of speech or emotions- although the tactician claimed it had held intelligent conversation with her in the Outrealms.

"…what do you want?" Did Einherjar require sustenance or rest? Robin had summoned it from the card and not dismissed it since. Was it tired? "I can try and find your card if you-" he interrupted himself when the Lodestar held out its other hand. He had no idea what it wanted from him… "Listen, I'm not in the mood to deal with your malfunctioning-"

Suddenly, the Einherjar stretched its free arm, putting its hand on the back of Chrom's head, and pulled him in. Without really knowing why or wanting to, the Prince of Ylisse let the spirit embrace him, putting his face to its chest and no longer attempting to stifle his tears. The mirror image of the long dead king let him cry, patting his head as if to comfort him… much like Chrom imagined a father would have.


	2. Falchion

Lucina could hold her own in battle. She'd fought her way past hordes of Risen in order to make it to the Outrealm Gate in her own time, and in this era, she had fought a great many of them on her own until she had joined forces with her parents. Really, she should have had no issues fighting these guys…

But for whatever reason, she found herself bested. A herd of Wyverns had cornered her, and quite frankly, the unending assault of lances and axes was slowly wearing her down. She saw no chance to use Aether to restore her strength, and slowly but surely, she was starting to slump against the wall.

It wouldn't all have been so bad if she'd still had Falchion on her. But she had given it to Morgan to see if the sword found him worthy, and neglected to bring it with her when she had left for kitchen duty…

She saw the silver axe of the nearest Wyvern Lord rising again, and she smiled despite herself. Curse her carelessness. But at least her father had been warned. She might still have changed history… the Lucina of this age might not have to suffer the same fate she did. With those thoughts, she shut her eyes and waited for the blade to come down.

However, instead of feeling an axe ending her life, Lucina heard a Wyvern's death cry. Opening her eyes in shock, she saw that all of her attackers had turned their heads to something behind them. The one who had been about to kill her was on the ground, his Wyvern sliced into two clean halves not far from him. Lucina immediately saw that the cut had been made by Falchion.

"Father!" she called out, believing Chrom to have separated himself from the rest of the army to save her, "Why are you… huh?" When one Wyvern turned around and attacked the person behind the horde, being sliced through much like the first one, her line of sight was cleared. Behind the beasts wasn't her father or even her brother, but…

"…Lodestar?" She needed a few seconds to fully comprehend what was happening. The Einherjar of the Hero-King was definitely holding her Falchion in one hand, and judging from the damage done to the two Wyverns, it was definitely allowing him to wield it. But how?! Einherjar were nothing but spirits who THOUGHT they were the people they resembled!

The Einherjar cut up two more Wyverns before the remaining beasts turned tail and flew away, despite their undead riders tugging on their reins to attack him. The Lodestar watched as they flew away, but once they were far enough away, he walked up to Lucina, setting the Falchion on the ground against his leg and extending his hand to her. She let him help her up and started patting down her clothes.

"Lodestar… No, King Marth… you…" she was confused, to say the least. She realized how little their company knew about these Einherjar. Was the spirit in front of her really her distant ancestor? He had to be- how else would he have been able to wield the sacred sword? But at the same time, that was impossible! The Hero-King was long dead…

More importantly though, assuming that the spirit really was King Marth, did this mean he was going to keep Falchion for himself? It was HIS sword, all things well considered. It would be his good right to continue to wield it.

Once she was finished patting herself down, King Marth reached for her, shamelessly touching the skin around a particularly nasty gash left in her chest. He didn't speak, and his facial expression betrayed nothing, but his touch was gentle and when he took his hand back, he used it instead to take Lucina's own. With his other hand, he picked up Falchion, and he turned around, tugging on Lucina's arm gently.

He led her back to the main body of the army, where he ignored the questions posed by their fighters as he took her to see her aunt Lissa. When he finally let go of her, he also placed the Falchion in her hand before wandering off.

While Lissa set to treating her wounds with a Mend staff, Lucina tried to see where he was going. It was nothing special- he'd walked over to the convoy, where he pulled a silver sword out of the carriage before heading back to where the fighting was happening, with no rush. In passing her, though, he looked over at her.

His face expressed nothing, and yet, Lucina felt compelled to smile at him reassuringly and mouth 'thank you' at him before he was gone.


	3. Memories

He sheathed the rapier he'd been given by the tactician, walking up the cliff near which he had finished his last foe. He should probably have gone to join his allies, but something drew him to the cliffside, and he figured the tactician would find him when it was time to return to their world.

He stuck his hands into his pockets and stared out over the sea, letting the wind tussle his hair and pick up his cape. He inhaled deeply, almost tasting the salt air of the ocean, and shut his eyes. Somewhere beyond the horizon, something was calling him. He didn't know what it was, just that it called him. It had since long before the tactician had appeared and taken him to her world. During the battles there, he had forgotten, but now that he was in the familiar island kingdom again, he felt the pull once more.

He wondered what it was. If maybe, once the tactician's battles were done, he could GO there. Find what lay beyond the ocean. Find what it was that was calling him… "Ah…" it was hurting his head to think about it. He'd never really given it much thought, but now that he was trying to dig into his memories, his head started to hurt, not unlike a serious case of migraine. Groaning, he held on to his head with two hands and doubled over, hoping for the pain to stop.

"Lord Marth?" he heard the familiar voice of the raven-haired woman, even if he didn't see her. "Are you alright?" He held out one hand as a sign that she had to be silent, and she grabbed on to it to help stabilize him. Maybe a good idea, considering how close to the cliff he was standing. After a few seconds, his head stopped throbbing and he could stand straight, sighing in relief. "What happened?" the tactician asked. "Should I send for Lissa?"

"No," he said, "I'm fine. Were we leaving, my lady?"

She nodded, and he now noticed the card she held between the fingers of her left hand. She'd crossed them, but the gilded piece of parchment was clearly visible. When she saw him looking, she held up her hand to offer it to him. "The old man gave it to us," she explained. "As our reward for retrieving the cards of the others."

"I see." He took the card from her and turned it to look at its face. At the top of the frame, the card said 'Roy of Pherae,' while at the bottom, it said 'The Red-Maned Lion.' Depicted on the face of the card was indeed a red-haired man, looking younger yet, or at least not older, than Marth himself. "Another swordsman," he said, recognizing a weapon in the redhead's left hand. "And a fairly skilled one." He had fought the man on the card just minutes ago. Handing it back, he concluded: "I believe you'll find Lord Roy a worthwhile addition to our army."

The tactician took the card and put it into an envelope she seemed to have crafted specifically for that purpose. Marth thought he saw another card, seemingly blank, in it, and furrowed his brow –why would she not consult with him on that person?- but he didn't press. While she claimed to value his advice, he would not force it upon her if she didn't feel it was needed. "So why are you here?" she asked, "We were looking for you at the gate. It's not like you to wander off on your own."

"Ah… 't Is nothing, milady. A personal matter… it will not interfere with my service to you."

She gazed at him thoroughly, but then shrugged. "If you're so sure. Let's go then, Lord Marth. You know how Chrom gets when we keep him waiting…"

"Yes, of course," he said, following her and grateful that she didn't pry further. Honestly, he didn't know how to answer her question. His lack of memories was bothering him, now, but as he and the tactician rejoined the rest of their army, he swore that he would regain all of them… or at least figure out what lay on the other side of the sea.


	4. Lissa

He turned around, feeling a pair of eyes burning a hole in his back. "…yes?" he said, looking down at the blonde girl in the shepherdess' dress, who was suddenly very busy clutching her staff to her chest, "Can I be of service?"

"Um," the girl said, "Maybe? I, uh, I'm Lissa."

"I apologise," he said, "But now is not really the best time for introductions." As he spoke, he turned on the ball of his foot and swung his blade out, connecting it with the sword that had been put forward by the red-haired young man that had approached them while they'd been distracted. Marth knew this man well- he wasn't much older than him and they had fought on many an occasion. It appeared that whenever Lady Robin's group visited this particular Outrealm, Lycia's Red-Maned Lion found and challenged him without fail.

He heard footsteps behind him indicating Lissa had taken her distance from the two clashing swordsmen, as Marth and Roy fought for dominance over these few square feet for the next few minutes. Sadly, the blue-haired prince was not gifted with nearly as much stamina as the redhead, and finally he reacted a second too slow to Roy's feint; immediately roaring in pain and driving his rapier through his foe's chest, waiting until he sank to the ground before clenching his hand over his waist. Roy's sword had connected with an unprotected part of him hard enough to draw blood.

"Lord Marth!" Lissa screamed as she ran over and raised her staff over his wound, "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," he said, even as he felt warmth wash over his flesh. "I just need to- WATCH OUT!" he put both hands on Lissa's shoulder, giving her a hard shove that sent her to the floor; in almost the same motion, he threw himself to the ground to avoid the same volley of arrows that he'd just saved the Cleric from being hit by. "We need to get out of here," he said as he spotted the group of dark-robed archers who had fired the arrows, "NOW!"

A few very tense minutes later, he finally let go of Lissa's arm. "We're safe here," he said, "They can't hope to hit us if they have to shoot into the trees." Once assured that they were, in fact, safe, he looked over to the blonde. "I do apologise for grabbing hold of you so brusquely earlier."

He set the rapier down against a tree, putting one hand over his wounded hip. "Do you think you could finish healing that injury?"

"Of course," Lissa said. She hadn't dropped her staff when Marth had shoved her over nor when he'd grabbed her arm to drag her off to safety, so she could set to finishing her work immediately.

As she worked her magic, Marth kept an eye on their surroundings. "Well, I don't think we're in any danger here… what was it you wanted to talk about before?"

"Oh, right," Lissa said, fiddling with her hair. She spent a few moments seemingly looking for words, and then started to explain herself. "Well, there's this hero in our world that Chrom and I are descended from. Chrom, myself, and our big sister, really…"

"So I've gathered. Your brother certainly looks the part and fights like it."

"T-that's what I wanted to ask you about," she said, clutching her staff close again. "Do you think I'm… good enough to be of heroic descent, too?" Marth didn't respond right away, too surprised by the question. It seemed like such a silly thing to worry about. Yet, he could see on the girl's face that she was serious and that this was, indeed, something that legitimately concerned her.

Despite not really knowing her all that well, he smiled at her reassuringly. "Yes," he then said, "of course."

"Are you sure?" she immediately asked, "But I'm so weak. I couldn't dent a pack of butter. And I'm scared of everything! Whenever a Risen gets anywhere near me I'm shaking in my boots."

Marth chuckled, and didn't stop smiling at her. "Yes, well… can you keep a secret, Lissa?" She nodded. "So am I. I've never fought a battle in my life that didn't have me thinking at least once that I was going to die."

"Really?!" she exclaimed, "But- but you're King Marth!"

"Prince Marth," he corrected her, "You and your family seem to make that mistake quite often. Additionally, Princess Lissa, you needn't concern yourself with your ability or inability to fight. You are a battlefield healer, are you not?" She nodded. "Taking to the battlefield without any sort of weapon or tome to protect yourself, relying on your allies to keep you safe as you heal their wounds; that in and of itself takes courage. In fact, you remind me of someone I…" He put a hand to his forehead.

It was strange. He could have sworn that just moments ago, he had remembered the face and name of someone that Lissa reminded him of, but it had slipped his mind right now. He tried to remember, but nothing came to him. In fact, his head was starting to hurt, so he gave up. "Don't force it," Lissa said, "Nothing good will come of that." She seemed to relax, leaning back. "Thank you, though. I feel better now."

"Good," Marth said, smiling despite his headache and his frustration over his inability to remember. "In that case, let's see if we can rejoin the rest of the army. Your brother must be worried sick by now."

"There they are!" Robin exclaimed, drawing Chrom's attention and pointing in the direction where she saw the two appearing. Chrom leapt to his feet and barged over to his little sister, ready to chew Marth out.

"Thank you," he snarled at the prince, "I'll take over from here." He then took his sister by the shoulder and wandered off, leaving Marth to ponder him. He was part of quite a large army, and its commander, Chrom, treated him with a certain degree of disdain, he would almost say despised him.

That wasn't so strange. Someone like him always made enemies in ways he couldn't even fathom. The strange part was that in this entire army, Chrom was the only one. Everyone else seemed to treat him with a reverence that almost bordered on hero worship, and he didn't understand why. He looked up from his ponderings when the tactician, Robin, approached him. "Don't mind him," she said, "He's just worried about his sister. It's nothing personal."

Really, Marth was pretty sure it was personal. But he smiled at Robin, indicating he wasn't bothered by it. He'd figure out what this was all about in due time; but first, he had to do something about those holes in his memory.


	5. Her

Something felt strange. The grass under his feet was different- he was in the tactician's realm. However, he had never been conscious or even sapient in this realm before, as he had concluded from his conversations with the tactician in his own realm. And yet… he was aware of his sword arm lashing out and connecting with a rotten horse's shoulder, the shock enough to send the rider to the ground. He felt the wind as someone else brought their weapon down on the rider- and then nothing. His foe disappeared from his mind and his feet moved him forwards, and then to a side to dodge an incoming attack.

He was barely conscious of it all… but he was conscious. His thoughts came in short, incoherent bursts. Had something changed? He felled his foes with greater ease than before. He had become stronger, he knew… had his increase in strength affected his consciousness?

He stopped questioning it and instead simply fell into a rhythm of stabs, thrusts, and elegant movements to dodge incoming attacks. This was what he knew, and it was what he was good at. Another foe eradicated. Another few seconds of moving forwards. The sensation of pure power sizzling by his ear- a sensation he had felt before but could not place. As he realized that, he slowed down and eventually grinded to a halt.

His mind cleared and he consciously registered her. He could not describe the battlefield around him or even the skies around her, but he saw her clear as day and unlike most foes he dispatched, he did not forget her face or her existence within moments.

She was gorgeous. She rode a pure white Pegasus, flying low enough over the ground that he could clearly see the muscles in her legs as she exerted pressure on the noble beast's flanks with her calves, the marks on her white armour where it had saved her from enemy blades, every tress of shining blue hair as it was tossed around by the wind, and her soft, gentle features. While he stared at her, his gaze following her as her Pegasus soared by within sword's reach from him and she stabbed a lance through an enemy that didn't matter, he found himself aware of time. He knew that he had been staring at her for several seconds when he realized that as she flew back up, he saw an enemy notching an arrow.

The moment she left his vision, he acted on instinct once more. His feet carried him forward swiftly, his sword arm found its target on its own, and then she flew past once more, once again holding his gaze. This time, however, she seemed to register his existence as well, as her Pegasus's hooves touched down on the ground lightly and it stopped moving. He didn't fully realize that she was dismounting until she was already on the ground, one arm resting on the Pegasus's neck reassuringly and her free hand clutching a blood-stained lance.

For a few moments, he forgot the battlefield around them, and he suspected the same was true for her. Nothing existed but the woman whose eyes locked with his. He could not tear his gaze from hers. Her hand slid off the Pegasus neck as she took a few steps forward. He did the same, moving closer to her. Where had he seen her before? She was so familiar… something tickled at the back of his mind, as if he should know who she was, as if it was inconceivable for him not to recognise her.

As they stood inches apart, leading him to realize she was about an inch and a half shorter than him, she raised her hand and put it on his cheek. There was no warmth, only pressure. He didn't question it, only pushing his face into her hand a little harder. Her touch was quite pleasant, even through her white gloves. He felt the urge to shut his eyes and only feel, but didn't give in to it. If he shut his eyes and lost sight of her, he would become a slave to his instincts of battle again. Normally he would be fine with that. But not now. Not now that he saw her.

To his dismay, she lowered her hand, although she did not break their eye contact. Instead, her hand slipped into his and she set her lance down so she could trace lines over his skin with her free hand, finally lowering her head to look at her work. He watched in astonishment, confusion, and a fuzzy, warm sort of feeling as she looked back at his face, opened her mouth, and whispered, in a voice so hushed that he couldn't be sure it hadn't been the wind:

"Tell me… Do you… believe in love?"

And then the Pegasus behind her whinnied, breaking their trance just in time for them to respond to the duo of swordsmen that had thought to take advantage of their distracted state. Then they broke contact, his battle instincts immediately pushing everything else back into that state of darkness and unconsciousness.

He could not remember.


	6. Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a birthday fic for a friend of mine, hence the use of male Robin and a different central Einherjar.

"We can't afford to remove any capable warrior from the frontlines, Chrom."

"What we can't afford is for her to go unguarded! Do you want to leave her vulnerable?!"

"Don't be stupid." Robin struck his hair back, groaning in frustration. They had been arguing this for hours. They'd been thrilled to find Exalt Emmeryn alive and well, but her compromised memories and speech had shaken them. She had certainly felt the consequences of her fall, and while she insisted on helping the Shepherds in their battles, neither Chrom nor Robin was comfortable leaving her unattended.

But they needed all the soldiers they could get, and they couldn't very well station an entire garrison with her; it would only serve to draw attention to her. No, one or two guards would be far better... But who to send? Frederick would be honoured, he was sure, but he needed Frederick to cover their frontline healers. "If only Phila were still here," he lamented out loud. "There's no one we can miss _and_ we trust with her. She needs special attention."

Chrom grit his teeth. "Well... much as I hate to say it..." He sighed. "What about an Einherjar?" Robin looked at him in amusement. Chrom was immensely uncomfortable with the spirits of long-dead heroes and had developed a strong dislike of them. He, himself, was happy to employ them because of how incredibly versatile they were, but he had agreed not to use them under normal circumstances because Chrom was far from the only Shepherd uncomfortable with them. "Einherjars don't question orders, and I think Emm would be fine with it, too."

"We could take a look," Robin agreed, walking over to his pack and pulling out a small pouch. Unstringing it, he reached in and pulled out a thick pack of cards, all of them gilded around the edges and the corners, and showing the portrait of a hero of legend on their faces. He started laying them out, similar to a fortune teller consulting the cards. Removing any cards of heroes that were unsuited to protective duty, either due to being healers in nature or because of being weak defensively, Robin looked over the remaining cards. "I wish we had more to choose from, but I think we can narrow it down to a few…" He pushed three cards towards Chrom. "Lord Hector of Elibe," he said, "I don't think I need to explain. I've yet to see anything pierce that armour of his."

Chrom picked the card up, subjecting it to scrutiny. "I think I've seen this one before," he said. "But isn't it too aggressive? If past experiences are any indicator it's likely to rush into battle with any enemy it sees… leaving Emmeryn alone."

"That's true," Robin said, taking the card back and putting it on top of the stack. "Well, what about this one, then?" He handed over a card showing a handsome blond man. "Camus the Sable died because of his adherence to his orders even when he knew them to be wrong. Making him guard Emmeryn at all times shouldn't be that hard."

"True…" Chrom frowned. "And a horse would certainly help keep her mobile, but isn't he… well, he's nowhere near as well-armoured as I would like her guard to be."

"Dear Naga, Chrom, why must you be so difficult about this…"

As Robin shuffled through the cards again, suddenly Chrom was the one to pick something up. "What about this one?"

"Ah…" Robin looked. The card showed a man not dissimilar to Lord Hector, except older and visibly more experienced and scarred, in heavy armour. "Oh, that must be Lord Uther of Elibe. I've summoned him before… he's very reliable." Smiling, he packed the other cards away. "Well-armoured and loyal. Should be perfect! Come on, let's go introduce them!"

Emmeryn had been in the mess tent, finishing her lunch, when Chrom and Robin walked in. "Hello, Emm," Chrom said, sitting down next to her. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes… thank you." She nodded slowly, turning to Robin. The white-haired tactician held an odd card in one hand, smiling at her as well. "What is… that?"

"This?" Robin said, holding the card up. "Chrom and I did some thinking. If you're going to come to the battlefield with us, you'll need a dedicated guard. We picked one out for you. I think you'll like him. Records tell us nothing but good about him." With that, he held the card up and let go of it- but the card didn't fall. Presumably, the tactician used some form of magic to make it materialize into the warrior on its face, instead.

The man materialized sitting on one knee and slowly rose to his feet, his gaze immediately capturing Emmeryn. He was… immense. He must have been almost seven feet tall, Emmeryn thought, and his armour made him even more impressive to look at. More than that, though, he looked positively regal. He didn't speak, only looking down at her. "Lord Uther will be protecting you," Robin said. "We wish we could spare a human guard, but the fact is we can't."

To the tactician's surprise, Emmeryn smiled, holding out a hand. Even more to both Robin and Chrom's surprise, the Einherjar took hold of that hand –gently, despite his immense strength and the massive gauntlet covering his hand- and bent down as if to kiss it. "It's fine…" she said, still smiling. Knowing they'd made the right choice, Robin sent for a soldier to grab a few weapons for the spirit to use.

The combination was put to the test very soon, unfortunately. They had just packed up camp and set out when they were ambushed by a horde of Risen. Robin quickly bellowed orders for everyone to take up positions and keep an eye out for each other, and Emmeryn felt her hand grabbed by that of her guard, who pulled her to the back, a little ways separate from the main fighters. Nodding that she understood, even though the spirit might not have been able to interpret her, she took hold of the Catharsis staff Robin had given her. With it, she could support the frontlines, even as far away as here.

She had never fought the Risen before, only heard about them from the people in her village. In a way, she supposed that made her similar to Lord Uther, who had only been briefed on them by Robin. Chrom had been unhappy with giving her an Einherjar for a guard, but Emmeryn didn't mind. His silence was comforting as it didn't force to awkwardly keep a conversation going, and she felt safe in his gigantic presence. She was busy tending to a distant wound when she noticed her protector turning to the side, as if in response to a sound she hadn't heard. Drawing her staff back, she looked in the same direction, only to see a trio of Pegasus-riding undead approach them quickly. She gasped -they were outnumbered two-to-three, and Pegasi were well-protected against her magic- but Lord Uther only gently pushed against her shoulder, urging her to take a few steps back before he strode forward, heavy silver axe held in both hands.

Emmeryn watched him raise the weapon and use it to fend off the Risen, even though they darted around him and dodged his blows for the most part. She saw their lances impact his armour, leaving no traces of their contact- it was too dense, too well-enforced, for them to injure him, this much to her relief.

Suddenly, he managed to connect a blow. Emmeryn gasped as she watched the Pegasus rider reel from the blow, its body bisected and the impact sending it flying from its mount. The Pegasus vanished the moment it lost contact with its rider, and Uther paid the two no more heed as he turned to finish with the other two. He was slow, but incredibly strong. His gauntleted hand managed to grab the reins of one of the other Pegasi, forcing it to stop mid-dodge, and he used his other hand to dig the head of his axe deep into the rider.

While he was occupied there, however, the third one flitted past him, having caught sight of Emmeryn and deciding she was a better target. Emmeryn didn't have the strength in her vocal chords to scream, so instead she did the only thing she could do- she took her green-covered tome to hand, intending to use it to defend herself. As the Pegasus descended upon her, she cast the spell, sending a powerful whirlwind flying its way. It collided with the beast, sending it reeling back into the head of Uther's axe.

With the Risen vanquished, the Einherjar appeared calm once more, coming over to her as if to inspect her for injuries. "I'm… fine…" Emmeryn managed to utter, smiling at it when it stopped in front of her. "Thank you for… watch out!" The spirit turned as she alerted him, but too late, as a bolt of lightning cut through his armour and made him stagger. Emmeryn acted much faster than she could speak, casting another wind spell to unbalance the Risen on its black-coated Pegasus.

Despite his injury, Uther regained his balance and decapitated the Risen with ease, creating a safe haven for them both once more. "Don't move…" Emmeryn told him, dropping her tome in favour of a powerful healing staff, "I'll help." The spirit stood still, watching her work as she applied her magic to his injuries. As weak as she was in battle, she was an immensely skilled healer… she'd always preferred to heal rather than to hurt, anyway. She placed one hand on the armour covering his abdomen, surprised when he placed his own over it.

She looked up at him, realizing he still wasn't speaking. He probably never would- Einherjar couldn't speak, not in this realm. She had overheard Robin discussing it with Chrom. Still, from the look in his eyes, she could tell what he was thinking and she smiled up at him. "It's… nothing… thank you for… protecting me."


End file.
